The Michigan Daily - michigandaily.com Monday, March 8, 2010 - 5A The ichganDail - ichganailyom ondy, arch8, 010- 5 Not quite a wonder In defense of electron ica Tim Burton's 'Alice' is beautiful, but tailored to tweens BY KAVI SHEKHAR PANDEY Daily Film Editor "You're the wrong Alice!" exclaim the Dormouse, Tweedledum, Tweedledee and Alice in many other char- acters in Tim Wonderland Burton's "Alice At Quality 16 in Wonderland," and ShOWCase convinced this . 19-year-old girl Disney who fell into a dizzying hole while chasing a White Rabbit is not the same Alice that came to Wonderland 13 years ago. Unintentionally, they are also reinforcing that this ain't your grandaddy's "Alice." No, this is a corporatized, for- mulaic, "let's try to sell as many t-shirts at Hot Topic as we can" version of "Alice in Wonderland." For generations, Lewis Carroll's 1865 novel has spanned across all age groups; it has enchanted chil- dren with its goofy character cre- ations and the teacup ride at Disney World, connected with adults who can appreciate the witticisms and subtexts and inspired hippies with its psychedelic undertones (see "White Rabbit" by Jefferson Air- plane). Accordingly, the visionary mind of Tim Burton was the ideal cre- ative force to take the reigns of a new tale set in Wonderland, having already dreamed up the marvel- ous mechanisms of Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory and the chill- ing woodlands of Sleepy Hollow to enormous success. With "Alice," the seventh col- laboration for Burton and his appar- ent muse Johnny Depp ("Sweeney Todd"), the director's genius is On a scale from one to Johnny Depp, this eye makeup is a Johnny Deppy. at full force. His visualization of his name - transformed into a val- Carroll's world is unsurprisingly iant-but-vulnerable hero? Because stunning, creating a once-vibrant he's played by Johnny Depp, and mystical realm now overrun with tickets must be sold! Depp brings murk and gloom. But other than out his surefire charisma, putting the dazzling art direction, some on his trademarked Crazy Face and inspired character creations and the settinga new record for most non- occasionalblack comedy, there's not sensical phrases in a single scene. much here for the over-18 crowd. It's understandable to give depth As mentioned, this "Alice" is a to a typically secondary character, continuation of the original story. but since the character is elevated Alice (Mia Wasikowska, "Amelia") to such a substantial role and is on is alligrown up and being pressured the forefront of every poster, the into marriage by her mother and film might as well be called "Mad high society. But destiny calls, and 'Hatter's Acid Trip in Wonderland." she is drawnback to Wonderland to Burton'deserves a lot of respect help topple the murderous regime for incorporating his distinc- of the large-noggined Red Queen tive macabre humor - eye goug- (Helena Bonham Cater, "Sweeney ing, decapitated heads and many Todd"). threats of execution - into such, This doesn't sound like Car- a family-friendly corporate cash roll's original story, which followed cow. But it's painful to see his Alice through the quips and riddles vision relegated to a film so obvi- of the peculiar inhabitants of Won- ously targeted toward the hoards derland. The problem isn't merely of teen "Twilight" worshippers. that the focus has changed, it's that Indeed, this is the"wrong Alice," it has changed into a teen fantasy as the cross-generational appeal of retread where a rebellious protago- Carroll's timeless classic has faded. nist gathers friends, evades foes Still, "Alice" is worth watching, and finds the almighty weapon, due to the Burton's natural bril- culminating ina climactic battle. liance, the hilarity of the March The friends include all the Hare (who tweaks like a crack famous faces - the philosophiz- addict) and the best boogie-down ing, hookah-puffing caterpillar denouement since "Fantastic Mr. (Alan Rickman, "Harry Potter"), Fox." But make sure you book it for Cheshire Cat (Stephen Fry, "V for the exitsbefore the scourge of Avril Vendetta") and the Mad. Hatter. Lavigne has a chance to liquefy Why has the Mad Hatter - a char- your eardrums with her abomina- acter whose insanity is branded in ble end-credits song. Electronica has a stigma. I know this because when I first bought Kid A and popped it into my stereo, after having spent months wearing out the grooves on The Bends and OK Computer, the first thought that washed , over me with JOSHUA dread was: BAYER "Fuck. I didn't know Radio- head did an electronica album." Truth be told, I really had no idea what electronica is, or what it could be. To me, electronica was little more than the yuppie- on-ecstasy rave-up techno that polluted radio waves after hours. I saw it more as an excuse to initi- ate orgies on dance floors than asa legitimate form of music. And if it wasn't in a club, then it was ambient and boring; the floaty, sleep-tape sort of music that snobs in berets would listen to in order to prove they could. Electronica is what I'Jike to call a "bastard genre" - a genre that, for whatever reason, hasbeen shoved into the backseat of pop culture. Jazz and metal arebastard genres too. And while I'm still slightly terrified of metal, I amhere to tell you that electronica is notjust for computer nerds and club creepers. It is for you. There is an electronica album outthere that will change your life if you listen to it.And I'm hopingthat, by giving you an eclec- tic shortlist of some of the more accessible albums and artists who have changed my life over the years, I can, at the very least, provide you with somethingthatwon't put you to sleep or give you a migraine. Let's start with the king, 1998's Music Has the Right to Children by Boards of Canada. This is the record that popped my cherry, and what I still deem to be the greatest electronica album of all time. You- Tube the song "Roygbiv" immedi- ately, f be war humar withot withot along; beat w that ex windo Thi takes' contai world filled metro es hau While on con weren facts f whole organ noises chirps sating its thr Ear cc But to Chil can'tb the kir tempo album sound ing his essent for "in brancl tempe and he Wh album best pl Richar est an, out all the re( betwe breakl or proof thatelectronica can phonic Pixy-Stix harmonies that rm, immediate, melodic and sound like they were daydreamed n. This pop opus is low-key by kindergartners, albeit with a ut being drifty and infectious refreshing tinge of evil. For anyone ut being obnoxious, clicking who has ever craved the turbo- steadily on an assembly-line charged exhilaration of frenetic ith day-glo synth harmonies drum-machine music but has been xude a stare-out-the-car- turned off by the frustrating lack of w optimism. melody, this is the albuin for you. s is one of those albums that And then there's the whole "left- you to a vivid, alternate, self- field hip hop" realm, perfect for ned reality - a sci-fi fantasy those seeking a chiller alternativeto equally sinister and angelic, Weezy and Jay-Z. 1996's Endtroduc- with shapeshifting neon ing... by DJ Shadow, the first album polises and enchanted marsh- composed entirely of samples, is the nted by demonic children. granddaddy ofthis subgenre. The all of these songs eere made album distorts and mashestogether nputers, they sound like they clips from essentially every genre 't made at all, existing as arti- and source imaginable (classical, rom an alien civilization. The jazz, hip hop, funk, psychedelia, old record feels overwhelmingly TV shows, dub, Tears for Fears, etc.) ic and fibrous, filled with the in ways you would never imagine, of trickling rivers, seagull uniting it all over mischievous, hard- and giggling children, pul- hittingbeats. Compared to Endtro- with warmblood in spite of ducing..., Girl Talk's music feels like obbing robotic backbone. baby food. As far as the aughts go, J Dill's Donuts has probably picked up the rcandyc be mostprestige, and Madlib's Shades can ofBlue is pure ear candy, but my A personalvote for Best DJ goes out to Flying Lotus, whose albums 1983 and LosAngeles are equally genius. Listening to Lotus's music is while Music Has the Right like being stuck inside a strobe- 'dren is my personal fave, it lit pinball machine, traveling in e denied thatAphex Twin is slow motion. His compositions are ngpin when it comes to con- bouncy and driving withoutever rary electronica. He released being straightforward - they're s in the '90s that would more like dense galaxies, orbiting cutting edge today, reinvent- stutter-like around an entrancing sound with each record and central idea as alien twitters and Bally layingthe foundation garbled breathing noises splashily telligent dance music," the sift around in the mix. h of electronica that borders While this list is anything but rately between head-bobbing comprehensive, my hope is that ad-tripping. something in this columnwill ile all of Aphex Twin's encourage you to get your feet wet. s are their own animals, the Because, as we all know, Cascada lace to start is probably 1996's (that chick who sings "Everytime d D. James Album, his short- We Touch") is taking over the d most immediate. Check world. And this is a problem. sum opener "4" for a taste of cord's bittersweet balance en trip-over-your-shoelaces beats and cartoonishly sym- Every time you and Bayer touch, he gets this feeling. To give him that feeling, e-mail jrbayer@umich.edu. Melodramatic and mustachioed By ANDREW LAPIN SeniorArts Editor There's an awful lot of scenery- chewing going on in "The Last Station," a movie about Russian novelist Leo Tolstoy's final The Cast days. But no one owns this movie StatnOfl like Paul Gia- At the matti's glorious Michigan handlebar mus- tache. Thick and Sony bushy, with the ends teased at sharp angles, it's all anyone can focus on when Gia- matti ("Sideways") is onscreen. This wonderful facial eccentricity evokes an image closer to Snidely Whiplash than Vladimir Chertkov (the real-life Russian writer and Tolstoyan Giamatti is playing), and yet, since the proceedings sur- rounding the mustache are pitched at a level of cartoonish hysteria, the construction of said mustache feels surprisingly justified. Alas, Chertkov and his upper lip are meant to be enjoyed only as auxiliaries to this story. Writer- director Michael Hoffman ("The Emperor's Club"), working from the historical novel by Jay Parini, has elected instead to cast James McAvoy ("Wanted") as the nar- rative's fulcrum. McAvoy plays a bland, naive writer named Valen- tin Bulgakov, a Tolstoy sycophant who is invited to be the man's latest secretary and live on the nearby compound populated by the cult-like followers of his writ- ings. He sports a rather drab goa- tee-type thing that, unfortunately, befits his character all too well. McAvoy's chief job is to stare wide-eyed at the domestic squab- bles that erupt between Tolstoy and his wife, until it's his turn to finally think for himself. Yawn. Anyway, the real meat of the story, and the ham acting, is Tolstoy's love/hate relationship, which actually does occupy both extremes of that spec- trum. Both Christopher Plummer ("Up"), as Tolstoy, and Helen Mir- ren ("The Queen"), as the Countess Sofya, received Oscar nominations for their high-class screaming and lovemaking. Mirren preens and flops about, as per her character, and she's just charming enough to avoid audience revulsion. Plummer's long, thick beard keeps up the high facial hair stan- dards set by Giamatti. Tolstoy's beard, after all, was the source of his power. Helen Mirren, dis- appointingly, shows no effort to similarly adorn her visage with some mutton chops - not even a Fu Manchu. Wait, there's still a movie to review. All of the actors are more than adequate in their roles, and the film has a very nice look to it; there are several gorgeous sweeping vistas of the Russian countryside. The problem is we can't take "The Last Station" seriously as drama because the characters over-emote so much. There's operatic, and then there's soap-operatic. For at least the first half of the movie this doesn't seem to be a problem, since it's pitched as a comedy, complete with the most refreshingly awkward virgin- deflowering scene ever commit- ted to film. But around the time we're supposed to root against Giamatti's mustache in favor of the crazy-yet-eternal bond the Tolstoys share with each other, the movie loses its mojo. There was never any dramatic weight here, but we're A campy look at Leo Tolstoy. cheated into thinking we missed it somewhere between the countess's gaudy suicide attempts. The greatness of Tolstoy as an author and philosopher is well- established, and those more famil- iar with the man's life and writings may glean a bit more interest from watching a dramatization of his end. Butrthen again, the film doesn't show much respect forthe old coot, and that's not even taking into account all of the British accents these supposed Russians are sport- ing. Was this really one of the most celebrated writers in the world? A hypocritical horndog who liked making rooster noises in bed with his wife? If "The Last Station" is to be enjoyed, it's as a campy fun casualty of the costume drama genre. And if they ever make an Oscar for Best Facial Hair, that will finally be the one Paul Giamatti wins.